


Agreements Made In The Communal Smoking Area Are Not Legally Binding

by SoulJelly



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Antagonistic Flirting, Heaven and Hell bureaucracy, Missing Scene, Other, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-13 07:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21240620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulJelly/pseuds/SoulJelly
Summary: 'Michael was looking at Beelzebub like they were something she wanted to crush under her perfectly polished shoe, and like she was fully aware that Beelzebub might be sort of, maybe, into that.'Or: How the trials and the hellfire/holy water exchange were agreed upon.





	Agreements Made In The Communal Smoking Area Are Not Legally Binding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anticyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/gifts).

In the smoking area, a single broken light flickered.

Michael leaned against the wall and looked out into the gloom, where bins existed in a permanent state of overflowing. Heaven and Hell's office building loomed overhead, casting this space in permanent shadow, which was rather fitting, she thought. She knew all too well that when angels and demons gathered here, there was often more exchanged than simply cigarettes.

"I came out here to be alone," said a voice in a languid, monotonous drawl. Almost sounding bored, like everything was beneath them and, technically, most things were. Twin, dull specks of red glowed in the uncertain light. The flies buzzed a little more loudly.

"What a coincidence," replied Michael. "So did I."

The darkness seemed to melt from Beelzebub as they appeared. They clenched and unclenched pale fingers, the fat black fly on their head twitching its wings. They had been enjoying the cold, listening to the soothing buzzing of flies.

"Michael."

"Beezlebub. I expect we'll all be working late trying to sort this mess out."

Michael's tone was pitched perfectly between conversational and polite disdain, in a way that implied she had years of practice. Given her covert dealings with Ligur, she probably had.

"Yeszz," said Beelzebub.

There was a long, empty silence.

Michael reached into her suit pocket and produced a packet of cigarettes. She held one lightly between two fingers, other hand cupping her elbow, holding the stick out to Beezlebub expectantly. Beezlebub did not move.

"A light," she said, and it was not a request, or a question. "Ligur used to... Ah, never mind it." She snapped her fingers, conjured flame on the ends of them and lit her own cigarette. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she took a long drag, bottom lip jutting out slightly to send the smoke spiralling upwards towards its brethren in the London smog.

Finally, Michael sighed.

"Here's the thing, Beelzebub," she said. "You have a Hell full of impatient, angry demons thirsting for blood and in want of a war they won't get."

"And your angels. Full of righteouszz anger and nowhere to put it, I exzzpect."

"You're not wrong. I'll be damned if-- That is, I'm not about to sit here and do nothing while Gabriel sits Upstairs wringing his hands."

"Underszztandable."

Beelzebub shifted, stood across from Michael with folded arms. They had this way of looking down their nose at people, even those who were taller than them. Pride like that, thought Michael, just begged to be crushed. She took a moment to consider that blistered mouth with its red, wet lips and all the uses they could be put to. Beelzebub returned the stare and did not blink. There was something curious, almost thoughtful, in their expression.

Flies hovered, lazy yet threatening, in the air around Michael. Like Beelzebub could just, if they wanted to, reach out and _touch_...

"Szzzo?" Beelzebub glowered. "Do you have anything useful to say, or not?"

"I only wondered," said Michael, slowly. "What you intended to do with the demon Crowley."

"That'szz classified information," replied Beelzebub, which in this instant meant that the leaders of Hell hadn't come to an agreement yet.

Michael said, "We're thinking Aziraphale is too much trouble to keep around," with such casual callousness that Beelzebub startled and wondered why she wasn't already down in Hell. Perhaps Michael's air of smug righteousness was just enough on the right side of Holy to keep her in the good books, as it were. What a waste. Hell was always in need of... competent people.

"You want to--?"

"Destroy him permanently, yes."

"We could keep Crowley locked up in the deepest chambers of Hell. A test subject for new formszz of torture. We could drag him out every few millennia to make an exzzample of him. He'll make for good entertainment at staff partieszz."

"You could," agreed Michael. "But it wouldn't be a nice, neat resolution, would it? You'd always be waiting for him to wile his way out, little snake that he is. Sweet talk _Him_ into letting him out for good behaviour. I know He has a certain... fondess..."

Beelzebub's mouth twitched slightly. Perhaps Ligur had given too much away, after all.

Speaking of fondness - or not - Michael was still looking at Beelzebub like they were something she wanted to crush under her perfectly polished shoe, and like she was fully aware that Beelzebub might be sort of, maybe, into that. In return, of course, Beelzebub would smudge the gloss from her shell-pink lips, press her up against the grimy wall and ruin her perfect hair, her pristine suit jacket. There was no Apocalypse now. The rules were not as they had been. And the two of them were currently having the most productive conversation anyone had had in the office building all afternoon. So let them indulge their thoughts a little.

"What are you proposzzing?" Beelzebub said at last.

'Hellfire," said Michael. "We need it, you have it."

"A trade, then."

"What would you want in exchange?"

Beelzebub looked her up and down.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," said Michael. "Surely something a little less--" she gestured with the cigarette, then changed tack. "Holy water. That's what we can give you. Drown the serpent in it for all I care."

"There would have to be a trial, of courszze."

Michael scoffed. "Do things however you like. Aziraphale will be lucky if he gets so much as a chair to sit in. We want this done quickly and discreetly before anyone else starts getting... ideas."

Heaven had not lost its knack for divine punishments, it seemed. Beelzebub suddenly recalled an image of Michael in the War, licking a line of blood and ichor from her lips as she slashed through the armies of Hell with ruthless efficiency. Icy blue eyes boring into Beelzebub's across a fiery chasm.

Hell could not be bested in ruthlessness. Beelzebub wouldn't allow it.

They found themselves nodding. Perhaps an agreement could be made. Some kind of arrangement.

"A few conditionszz, then."

"Hmm?" Michael arched an eyebrow.

"You'll deliver the holy water yourszzelf. I do not want this taszzk given to anyone incompetent."

"Reasonable." The slightest smirk played about Michael's lips.

"Secondly," continued Beelzebub. "We will reconvene to debrief. In private."

The smirk stayed in place. Michael nodded. "I'll need a new contact now that Ligur is out of the picture. You seem... suitable."

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes, having the feeling of passing a test they did not know they were taking.

"I suppose I'll be seeing you shortly, then," Michael said. She stubbed out her cigarette at last, did something complicated with her hands to make the stub vanish. Turned to push open the door into the building, under the flickering light.


End file.
